


Pull up a Chair

by Wishful86



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:32:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1316653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishful86/pseuds/Wishful86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>d'Artagnan's been temporarily kicked out, Porthos has embarrassed himself and Constance is injured but all is going to be well because Aramis has made stew. Athos and Treville are there too. They roll their eyes a lot. Hope you enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pull up a Chair

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting on here. First time writing for The Musketeers. Let's see how it goes...

Pull up a Chair

d’Artagnan was not in the best of moods. He still thought he could have been given some kind of advanced warning that they were going to arrive. Although, Constance didn't seem to be aware that so many would be decending on her house. Poor Constance. She didn't really have an excuse to get out of spending time with her husband’s family. D’Artagnan was almost grateful for being asked to find somewhere else to stay for a while. Almost. It was absolutely freezing out and he had no place to stay. He lent against the wall and dropped his bag at his feet. Where to go? 

Porthos's place was ruled out straight away. They’d had to hide away there during a mission once but the place was like a deathtrap. The Gascon didn't fancy having to do any tidying of weaponry just to find a place to sleep.

Athos. Athos, the man who drank himself into a oblivion most nights and barely had enough stuff in his place to create anything close to be considered a mess, was ruled out second. d’Artagnan didn't like the idea of sleeping on a cold wooden floor next to a drunk man either.

That left Aramis. Aramis's place was...well, now that he thought about it, he'd never been in Aramis's place. Now he was curious. The only downside to going there was the chance he could interrupt Aramis with one of his female acquaintances but actually Aramis’s reputation was a little over exaggerated where that was concerned.

  
A shiver ran through d’Artagnan's body. He set off for Aramis's lodgings.

...

  
Aramis licked the spoon and smiled. "That is good. If I do say so myself,' he said to himself as he began to stir the stew once more.

There was a knock at the door and he moved to answer it swiftly.  
"d’Artagnan?" Aramis raised a questioning brow at the young man.

"Monsieur Bonacieux's family is visiting and I was getting in the way," d’Artagnan said in way of explanation. He was slightly hopping from one foot to the other.

Aramis swung the door open fully and gestured inside, "Well, come on in then."

d’Artagnan hesitated for a moment, surprised by the other man's immediate hospitality. He had expected more questions but apparently he had said enough to be almost pushed inside and forced over to the small fire in the corner of the room.

"It's cold out tonight," Aramis stated whilst pulling up a chair and taking a'Artanagn's bag from his shoulder, 'I am assuming you didn't know his family was coming?"

d’Artagnan sat down and rubbed his hands together, "No. Constance only thought his brother was paying a visit but he brought his wife and cousins too."

Aramis laughed, "Oh I bet Constance is happy."

"If by happy, you mean 'ready to kill someone'? Then yes,' d’Artagnan chuckled.  The fire had done its job and warmth filled his bones. He glanced around at the new surroundings properly now. He appeared to be sat in a small kitchen area. There was a reasonably large wooden table behind him that had several miss-matched chairs surrounding it. There was an open door on the other side of the room, through which he could see the edge of a bed. Everywhere looked the exact opposite of Porthos's; it was spotless but yet it definitely felt lived in. It made d’Artagnan feel welcome not unlike the man who owned the rooms. The man who was speaking to him,

'd’Artagnan?' Aramis furrowed his brow at his young companion who looked lost in thought. 

"Sorry" d’Artagnan shook his head, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I was wondering if you'd eaten?"

d’Artagnan faced Aramis properly and couldn't help the growl that escaped from his stomach when he spotted the bowl in the other man's hands. "No, actually, I was-'

'Right then,' Aramis didn't wait for him to finish. He placed the bowl down on the table beside his friend, "get stuck in. It's only stew but I happen to think it's delicious and there's plenty to go around.' He pointed to the large pot that d’Artagnan had failed to notice by the fire.

The Gascon turned his chair so he sat correctly at the table. Aramis sat opposite with his own bowl. "This is good," d’Artagnan stated as he eagerly tucked in, "Thank you for this and for letting me stay.

Aramis shrugged, "You're always welcome."

They ate in comfortable silence for while until the front door crashed open and a miserable Porthos entered.

"Ah Porthos," Aramis greeted enthusiasticly, "Come in and tell us about your date."

"Date?" d’Artagnan questioned mouth quirking in amusement.

Porthos grunted in reply and slumped down at the table. Aramis patted his friend's shoulder, "That bad was it?"

"It's all your fault," came the mumbled reply. Aramis removed his hand.

'My fault?" 

Porthos lent forward and rested his head on his hands. d’Artagnan shot Aramis a questioning look but recieved only a shrug in response. He needed to ask, "How is it Aramis's fault?"

After a big sigh, Porthos sat back again, "You always manage to make it work. I try it and...I compared her to a dying tree."

The other men shared confused looks but this time it was Aramis who spoke, "You may need to tell us more."

"Poetry," Porthos's voiced was raised in iratation now partly because he wished he hadn't started telling his friends and partly because he couldn't believe his own stupidity, "I tried to quote poetry but got all mixed up and ended up comparing her to a dead tree."

This time the other men broke out into laughter that made Porthos groan and stand in search of wine.

  
Aramis shook his head, "Poetry is not for you, Porthos. You're not the...romantic type."

"What type am I then?" Porthos asked returning to the table with a bottle and glasses. 

"You're a..." d’Artagnan began.

"Careful," Porthos warned as he began pouring.

The younger man grinned, "You're the big and brawny type."

Aramis snorted, "Yes, that's exactly what you are."

Porthos glared at his friends and set the bottle down with a bang, "Excellent. So I should what? Beat someone up infront of her."

"Some women find that attractive," Aramis shrugged, "It's the bad boy-" Before he could finish there was a quick knock at the door but the perpetrator did not wait for anyone inside to answer, they let themselves in, "Ah Athos, you've arrived just in time."

"Have I?" 

"Yes, Porthos was telling us about his date," d’Artagnan smirked over at Porthos earning himself a glare in reply. 

Athos seated himself next to the Gascon and wasted no time helping himself to wine, "What did you do?" he asked.

 "Poetry. I tried to quote poetry, ok? Now can we all leave it be?"

Athos's mouth ghosted the hint of a smile at his friend's humourus misfortune but he did have other matters to attend so he decided to adhere to the request and changed topic, "Treville has a job for us."

Those few words caused the other men to focus almost instantly. Athos continued, "He wants us to lead a training session with the new recruits tomorrow. Aramis, you're to take shooting. Porthos hand-to-hand combat and d’Artagnan you'll be joining me with the swords."

Two of the men nodded but one shook his head, "I am the big and brawny one, arn't I?" Porthos groaned causing d’Artagnan and Aramis to resume their laughter once more.

Athos rolled his eyes, "Must you be so childish?"

Aramis stood. "We must,' he said teasingly. He served up two more bowls of stew and set them down infront Athos and Porthos. d’Artagnan resumed eating his own dinner and began to wonder just how many times the others ate at Aramis's? It all seemed so familiar to the other men. Before he could think further or ask questions a sharp knock at the door surprised them all. Aramis quickly glanced round as though taking an inventory; everyone he was expecting plus one more were already in his kitchen. Another even more urgent knock at the door came and Aramis wasted no more time.

 “Captain?” he quirked his brow at the man and then he saw who was slightly behind him, “Constance?”

 At the mention of the latter name, d’Artagnan looked up, “Constance?”

“I hoped you were in. Madame Bonacieux could do with your assistance,” Treville began as he entered the room with the lady following, “A red guard was riding too fast through the village.”

“He was riding like a mad man,” Constance interrupted as she held out her arm for Aramis to see. It was covered in a makeshift bloodstained bandage. D’Artagnan was immediately at her side as he saw it.

 “Can I?” Aramis asked as he tugged lightly on the end of the bandage indicating that he wanted to inspect what was underneath. Constance nodded. 

Treville pulled up a chair next to Athos who poured him a glass of wine, “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,” he said to Constance. 

“Don’t be silly,” Constance told him firmly, “It would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t have pushed me out of the way.” She hissed the last part as Aramis prodded about her wound. 

“Sorry,” Aramis said, “Although there is a fair amount of bruising, I don’t think anything is broken but this cut will need stitching so I’ll go and get my things.” He left the room giving a pale looking d’Artagnan a reassuring pat on the shoulder as he passed. 

Porthos pulled out a chair and Constance gratefully sat down. D’Artagnan continued to hover behind her. “d’Artagnan, I’m fine. Honestly. Like I said it could have been worse if the Captain hadn’t had been there. What is the world coming to when you can’t even go out for a quiet walk without nearly being run over? Mind you, I wouldn’t have been out for a walk if my stupid husband’s family weren’t all over the place.” Throughout her rant Constance had begun to start gesturing and Aramis, having returned, was watching her with mixed amusement and concern. 

“I hope you are going to keep still while I stitch you,” he stated kneeling next to her to begin, “Don’t want you messing up my needlework.”

“You better keep still,” Porthos warned, “You never know when someone might punch you.” 

“That’s only for your own good,” Athos responded knowing to what he referred. Beside him Treville shook his head.

  
“I don’t want to know, do I?” He said rolling his eyes at the mischievous looks he received. He sometimes couldn’t believe these men were the King’s Musketeers. It was like looking after children. 

“What happened to the guard?” d’Artagnan asked as he settled back at the table again now satisfied Constance was alright.

   
“He won’t be riding anywhere for a while,” Treville told him with a trace of laughter on his lips. 

“He’s been dismissed?” Porthos questioned, a little surprised it was that simple after all the guards were under the Cardinal’s protection.

“Not dismissed, no unfortunately.” There was a definite trace of regret in the Captain’s tone but this then suddenly changed to amusement again, “I was referring to the fact that Madame Bonacieux kicked him in a rather delicate area.”

All the other men turned to face Constance abruptly and with a nod of the lady’s head, they all burst into laughter.

“You are one hell of a woman,” Aramis told her as he continued on with his careful work. 

  
“Here’s to Constance,” Athos stated raising his glass. Porthos, Treville and d’Artagnan joined the toast. It was no secret that the Musketeer’s did not like the Red Guards and the image of Constance giving one of them what for was very satisfying. 

"Ok, I think that's that," Aramis stated as he cut the thread and finished off neatly. "I would be happier if this arm was supported though," he mused more to himself. "I'll go and see if I have a sling." He collected all his equipment up and left for the bedroom.

"Thank you again," Constance called after him. Looking down at the Musketeer's careful work on her arm, she sighed, "I misjudged him."

"Who?" d'Artagnan asked.

Constance put her head back up and glanced to the bedroom, "Aramis," she told him quietly, "I thought he was just a charmer."

"He is a charmer," Porthos and Athos spoke almost simultaniously, mischief dancing in their eyes.

"You know what I mean," she hissed back at the two teasing men.

"Aramis likes helping people," Treville cut in nodding at Constance, "I always remember-"

"This should do it!" Aramis announced rather loudly as he came back into the room clutching what looked like a ripped sheet. However he noticed the rooms abrupt silence and stopped in his tracks, "What did I miss?"

Thinking on his feet, Porthos tilted his bowl and took his last bite of stew, "We were saying how good this stew was." 

Aramis raised his brow in disbelief but suddenly realised something, "Constance, Captain, forgive me, I should have offered you dinner."

Treville shared a knowing look with Constance before responding, "Well, I'm in no rush so thank you, I'll have some."

"I'm in no rush either, thank you" Constance said. She didn't think her presense at her home would be much missed at the moment and she didn''t know whether that bothered her or not.

"I'll sort the stew out," d'Artagnan offered and Aramis nodded his thanks then continued to tend to Constance's arm. D'Artagnan went to do his task. "You made a lot of stew," he observed while ladelling out two more bowls.

"I rarely eat alone," Aramis replied and he shared a smile across the table with Porthos and Athos. It was them who usually accompanied him. It had become normality after Savoy. Determined not to let Aramis lose himself to dark memories, the two men found every excuse and reason for turning up at his place. It didn't take long before Aramis realised but by then he could also see the good it was doing him. His friends may not be great with sewing his physical wounds but they knew how to help with the wounds that ran deeper. Years had passed since then yet the men still gathered round Aramis's table, finding that it benefited them all.

D'Artagnan watched the Musketeer's sharing their smiles and sighed. There was so much he'd missed, he felt a pang of jealousy.

Aramis stood from his place at Constance's side and patted Porthos's shoulder. "Porthos here can't cook,' he said breaking the moment.

"I'm not that bad," Porthos defended.

Athos wriggled his nose, "Not that bad? I still remember the vomiting."

"Oh the vomiting," Treville groaned with memories of his own. "That was one hell of a training day."

The pang of jealousy d'Artagnan felt quickly dispersed upon seeing the looks the other men now shared. There were things he was very glad he had missed.

"Can you all stop talking about vomit?" Constance interjected. The contents of her bowl had become rather less appealing.

"Gladly," Porthos nodded wincing as he remembered the trouble he'd caused.

"How about we hear more about Porthos's adventures with poetry?" Aramis suggested causing d'Artagnan to snort and Porthos to clap him round the head.

...

  
Later that night, d'Artagnan lay awake in his makeshift bed on Aramis's floor thinking on the events of the evening and how much had occurred since he arrived in Paris. He never would have thought he'd make such good friends especially as he'd had every intention of killing one of them. 

"d'Artagnan," Aramis's voice startled the Gascon. He'd thought the older man was asleep.

"Yeah?" He replied turning his head.

"Stop thinking and go to sleep."

d'Artagnan smiled and closed his eyes. 

 

 


End file.
